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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26806888">As Within, So Without</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowley_Winchester/pseuds/Crowley_Winchester'>Crowley_Winchester</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetaphoricalPants/pseuds/MetaphoricalPants'>MetaphoricalPants</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>After Wrath of the Lamb, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama &amp; Romance, Eating, M/M, Paris (City)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:28:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,263</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26806888</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowley_Winchester/pseuds/Crowley_Winchester, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetaphoricalPants/pseuds/MetaphoricalPants</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jumping off the cliff hadn't killed either Will or Hannibal. On the run, the pair fled to Paris, easily able to blend in with the ever-changing tourists. While they had started off in love, love can turn to obsession, and obsession can turn to hatred. Perhaps Will and Hannibal are destined to always dance to different tunes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham &amp; Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>As Within, So Without</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was co-authored by<br/>Crowley_Winchester (hornymagnets on tumblr), who wrote Hannibal Lecter<br/>and<br/>MetaphoricalPants (princessleiadelrey on tumblr), who wrote Will Graham</p><p>Enjoy the second collab!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Will couldn't count on his hands how many times their relationship had been described as intimate. Even more so now. Their first nights in the upscale Parisian apartment that they would be calling home for some foreseeable future had been an exploration. Hands and teeth exploring newly exposed skin, passion bubbling over like a neglected pot on a hot stove left alone to boil. Mapping uncharted territory and claiming it, kissing over scars as their minds replayed the burdens that had caused them. Lips on the horizontal scar on his forehead that still made his mind buzz. </p><p>Perhaps the celebration of their survival had begun too early, the wounds still fresh, the taste of the coast on his tongue.</p><p>It was beautiful, though. The way the morning sun shone through the curtains that shielded the doors to the balcony, kissing the hardwood good morning, and in the evenings the lights of the tower and city seemed to make the space feel more alive. Music from the street poured in through the open balcony door. Will could see why this city was often associated with love. The view certainly made up for any of the apartments shortcomings, and perhaps the shortcomings of its occupants. While it was no comparison to the farm, this was likely one of the most lavish places he had stayed in.</p><p>The kitchen was large (of course) with a modest-sized adjacent dining room, the table always immaculately set by Hannibal himself. The two bedrooms seemed to create more tension than comfort as closed doors became a symbol of mistrust between them. An illusion of choice, as though one could go their separate ways at the end of the night. Somehow, Will always found himself lying beside the doctor, paranoid and seeking comfort all in the same breath.</p><p>Will looked at the wine, lip curling with disinterest as he swirled the immaculate glass between his fingers, watching the liquid lap at the thin barrier between it and his skin. He lifted the glass to his lips as he made eye contact with Hannibal, the smallest of curt smiles playing on his lip as he took a sip. Subconsciously, he almost wondered what would happen if he were to take the thin glass between his teeth, breaking it as though it would dispel the mounting tension between them. Perhaps while Hannibal scrubbed blood from the white table runner, Will would have time to figure out his next move in the dangerous dance they’d begun. He was still learning the footwork. </p><p>But the tension between them hadn't always been so thick. Their first days settling into the apartment had seen them struck with a sense of domesticity. Breakfast on the balcony and kisses on the cheek… Maybe the love in the Parisian air had them temporarily under its spell. </p><p>Will stood on the balcony, nursing his first cup of coffee that morning, the gentle breeze sweeping with it the last bits of sleep from slow blinking eyes. He couldn't think of a time before where he had slept so soundly, his chest pressed to Hannibal’s back. He had been woken up by the rich scent of coffee wafting into the bedroom, and after dressing and pouring himself a cup, he had made himself at home by the railing of the balcony. </p><p>Feeling eyes on his back, he turned to look at Hannibal through the open door, lips curled inward to conceal his smile. He hadn’t had the chance to thank him for the coffee. He should. "Are you just going to watch or will you join me?"</p><p>”He who contemplates the depths of Paris is seized with vertigo. Nothing is more fantastic. Nothing is more tragic. Nothing is more sublime.” There were many aspects to Paris that those who hadn’t lived there couldn’t even begin to imagine. It was known as the romantic capital of the world for good reason. Almost everywhere one looked, there was a man on one knee, looking up with adoration at his beloved. Fresh flowers, especially this time of year, seemed to make the very air throughout the city intoxicatingly sweet, the scent only interrupted by the aroma wafting from an occasional bakery. And every night, the streets were paved with a golden glow from the lights, music casting everyone and everything under a tranquil spell. </p><p>Perhaps, those walking the streets of Paris at night wouldn’t feel so at ease if they could see what their precious city looked like from above. The golden glow turned orange and the warmth from the lights burned hot, making the streets look like rivers of hellfire. Very few people ever got this view of Paris; very few, except for the gargoyles and demons perched at the highest points of the city. Some had been watching the city for hundreds of years, had felt the smoke of true fire and had seen blood coating the streets. They knew that there was more to Paris than romance; everything had a dark side.</p><p>Not every demon was perched, however. Some were in museums, some were in workshops being restored. And some walked the streets, blending in with the innocent souls in love. This was not the first time that Hannibal had walked within Paris, and it would be quite a pity if it ended up being his last. This was the city of his youth, where he had lived with his aunt and had gotten his medical degree. He spoke French better than English, and not even the locals doubted him as one of their own. The finery in the city made living there an absolute pleasure, and truly, a part of the doctor wished that pleasure could be the only thing on his mind.</p><p>At first, there had been nothing but it. Touches, whispers, tender kisses on scars both old and new, scars gotten alone and gotten together. For the man who was finally ready to stop running, to end the circle of life where he had become the man he was today, it was perfect. Too good to be true, in fact. </p><p>The demon was tired. Tired of Will keeping him on his toes, even though that was part of the reason Hannibal had fallen in love with him. Would it be too much to ask for Will to just stop trying to outsmart him? To stop this tango, and fall into a slow waltz? Apparently, it was. Will would never let himself be held by the yoke. Even tonight, at dinner, the doctor could feel the tension, almost palpable, across the table. It didn’t matter that Will was sipping Domaine de la Romanée Conti, one of the most expensive bottles of French wine he could acquire. Will smiled, and Hannibal smiled back, but there was no true happiness behind either of their eyes. It made him long for the early days of Paris, when their smiles had meant something.</p><p>Hannibal had put on the coffee before leaving the apartment, walking to wherever his noise decided to lead him. He had ended up in front of a bakery, and after a quick discussion and an exchange of euros, he was walking back to the apartment with a small paper bag containing a fresh loaf of brioche and some jams. Normally he would choose to make something, but, in addition to not wanting to wake up Will with the noise of cooking, there were some things Hannibal had never been able to master as the French street bakers had. </p><p>He hadn’t expected to see Will on the balcony or even upright, but the sight caused a smile to cross Hannibal’s face. Shedding his suit jacket and leaving the bag on the dining room table, he walked up behind the other. “It’s hard to choose which view to look at,” he murmured, a small smile dancing on his face as he wrapped his arms around Will’s waist, chin resting on his shoulder for a moment before kissing his cheek. “I brought breakfast. Are you hungry?”</p><p>"The city." Will shook his head as he returned his eyes to the street below, his free hand finding the railing as he brought his coffee mug to his lips. He wasn't much of a sight in his plain t-shirt and the pants that he had thrown on from the night before. The city was brighter than he was, full of life and romance and things that looked like they'd be more readily found in cinema than on the street. From the railing, he could see the couples exploring the city, blissfully in love, the small flower cart only a few doors down, a bread cart not too far off, the scent drifting on the breeze. Gentle scenes of perfect modernity, unlike any he had experienced previously, even during his marriage to Molly. </p><p>He lolled his head to the side, slightly leaning back into the man behind him, closing his eyes for a moment. For someone who could come off as adverse to touch, Will found something in the arms around his waist and the lips on his cheek, intoxicating. Despite not being necessarily hungry, he felt wrong to deny whatever he had purchased for them. He knew Hannibal well enough to expect only the best, and Paris seemed to have so much of that to offer. </p><p>"Breakfast sounds nice." Opening his eyes, he rightened himself, turning to face the doctor as his hand was thoughtfully placed on his chest for a moment. He pressed a lingering kiss to the other's lips before gently extracting himself from his arms, pushing past him, a gentle brush of shoulders, an act of flirtation. He knew he would be followed to the dining room table, where he found the bag. Setting his mug down, he was tempted to inspect the contents of the bag but waited. He knew the other as skilled in presentation and he wouldn't want to take away from whatever beautiful spread he would arrange. He had grown to love the flourish by which Hannibal did things.</p><p>The same flourish Will had tried to mimic with Randall Tier, the fake Freddie Lounds, and the man that Hannibal had caged. But he could never truly mimic the precision and detail by which the doctor did things. Precision and detail that had begun to leave a bitter taste in his mouth, fermenting, becoming like a sour grape with no hope of being made into wine. He had tried to act on his own accord, to trick the man who had tricked him, who had used him, framed him for a murder that hadn't even happened. And even still Hannibal was always five steps ahead. His assertion had only gotten him further in trouble with the law and eviscerated, bleeding out on the floor when he had tried to allow the man he had sickeningly fallen in love with to escape. When had he become such a fool? </p><p>It felt like Will was tripping over his own feet as Hannibal danced with an unnatural grace, practically mopping the floor with him. Hannibal had been given the steps to the dance as Will was forced to watch and learn from the man who could make it look seamless. He was struggling to learn the movements, so he had begun to make up his own.</p><p>"You haven't announced dinner." Will's smile hardened, expression becoming blank but his eyes were narrowed with intent. Raising it again, the fragile wine flute rested on the soft bottom lip just below teeth. He tilted it with careful hands but before the rich liquid could even reach his tongue, the sound of glass chipping hit his ears.</p><p>“No, I have not,” Hannibal agreed, the almost-blank smile still resting on his face. The food was resting on the counter in the kitchen; Marseille-style shrimp stew, with a basket of lightly-toasted baguettes. A meal that was certainly representative of his skill, as all meals were, but...there had been no passion in preparing this meal tonight. </p><p>He stood up and began walking towards the kitchen, intent on bringing the meal inside, when the sound of shattering glass caused him to pause. Hannibal turned around, staring for a moment at Will, at the glass that was clearly broken, at the wine pouring over his face and onto his clothes. There wasn’t surprise at the breakage, nor anger at the ridiculously-expensive wine being so carelessly wasted. No, there was just an expression of utter exhaustion. </p><p>It was only there for a moment before disappearing, Hannibal smoothly grabbing his napkin off of the table as he walked towards the other. “I’m sorry, I should have checked the glass for a defect before giving it to you,” he murmured, wiping the wine off of WIll’s face before gently holding his jaw, a finger pulling down his bottom lip to take a look at the damage. “Are you alright, Will?”</p><p>There were no defects in any of the glasses. And, if there miraculously had been, Hannibal certainly would have noticed while setting the table for dinner. It was obviously Will’s version of lashing out. Why, why couldn’t he just play the part? The doctor was more than willing to hold his hand, to guide his steps, to teach him until they became one, dancing to a tune that only they could hear. But now, it was quite obvious they had different intentions on the dance floor. Hannibal was more than content to sway to Hell’s violins, but Will always insisted on turning his head towards Heaven’s bells, standing firmly in place to the demon’s music. </p><p>It didn’t seem that long ago, that the sounds of Paris overwhelmed either tune. Then, they were perfectly in step. “I have already seen the city. I’ve spent years exploring her depths. I have much more time to make up with you,” he murmured, lips brushing against Will’s ear as they stood on the balcony. The pair made quite the sight; a man, clad in a suit worth thousands, pressed against and looking at practically devotingedly at a man who looked barely functional at this time in the morning. Not that Hannibal could care what people thought about the sight. </p><p>The doctor let Will brush past him, following his movements with amusement, still savouring the taste of the French roast on his lips. “I’ll only be a moment.” Fingertips teasingly brushed against Will’s back as he passed, picking up the bag and returning to the kitchen. Hannibal had presumed, while making coffee this morning, that he was going to end up at a bakery. So, before he left, he had arranged a fruit platter, slicing strawberries, kiwis, grapes, and peaches and carefully placing them, spiralling out on the plate. On this, he rested the brioche, cutting the loaf into sections before placing the jams in the centre, after having put some in a white bowl.</p><p>By Hannibal’s standards, the presentation wasn’t anything exceptional. But, while he certainly enjoyed the art of cooking, that’s not where his attention was lying at the moment. This was a side of Will that, truly, he hadn’t witnessed before. The domestic side. Sure, he had been privy to Will’s house, had taken guesses how the man lived his life at home, but hadn’t experienced it. Hadn’t previously gotten to wake up, and find that somehow Will had ended up holding him, even though they had fallen asleep in the opposite arrangement. It was a side of Will that he was eager to see the depths and limits of; to see how long someone would be able to live with him and understand him. Bedelia lasted some time, but there was so much reprehension in her actions. Not with Will.</p><p>Hannibal brought the platter out on one hand, the other holding his own cup of coffee, before setting it down between them. “Bon appétit,” he said, smiling at Will with genuine warmth behind his eyes before sitting down.</p><p>The splash of wine that covered Will’s face and clothes came as no shock to him; he should've expected it, having shattered the elegant curve of the flute. This was his plan. This was his design. The look in his eyes was nothing short of crazed, enraged, as Hannibal wrote off his actions as a defect in the glass. As if this was an accident. No, this was intentional. Purposeful. Will wanted to regain control, an exercise in autonomy. He didn't flinch as the wine was wiped from his face, the anger melting from his eyes as he numbed himself to the performative act of care. The same voice that asked if he was alright was the same as the insidious whisper that had driven him over the edge, there was nothing tender in the grip on his chin. He had planned a performance all this own, and it was only just beginning. </p><p>Acting as both dancer and composer, he had begun to set the tone for his own piece, increasing the tempo and grabbing the lead from his partner. He would guide the dance now, sure of his own footing as he had created the motions. There would be no hand-holding or feet moving gracefully across the floor, no time to catch up or learn the motions. It was deliberately sporadic, messy.</p><p>Will set the remnants of the broken wine glass on the table as he welcomed the medium-sized shard into his mouth. He could feel the slanted sharp edge cutting at the tender flesh of his cheek as he slid the piece deeper into his mouth. Metallic blood stung his tongue and overtook his senses as he brought his teeth down on the glass. The harsh cracking of the glass was accompanied by the grinding sound of his teeth breaking the glass down into smaller and smaller fragments. This was the epitome of self-expression, of choice in action. Hannibal could've never seen this coming. He could've never predicted that Will would have done this and it made him feel so alive. He continued to chew until his mouth was full of a slurry of glass shards and blood mixed with saliva. </p><p>"Fine. How are you?" He ran his tongue along the front of his bottom teeth, a gratuitous display that caused more to spill over, dripping onto the arm of Hannibal's expensive suit. A grand smile played on his lips as his masterpiece spilt over, over his chin and onto his lover's hand. The same hand that was supposedly checking his mouth for injury. </p><p>The same hand that fed them, hosted and arranged each meal. The one that had teasingly brushed him in nearly every passing as they had first begun to settle in. Years of pining had turned into something playful between them at first. Stolen kisses and hands on each other every chance they had gotten. It was like a little dance all its own, a mundane game they'd happily resigned themselves to.</p><p>Will hadn't minded the teasing touch to his back that made him shiver as he watched Hannibal go, a smile aimed at his back as he walked to the kitchen. He seated himself next to the head of the table as he reintroduced himself to his coffee mug, enjoying the warm press of the ceramic in his hands. Perhaps he hadn't managed to shake out every ounce of sleep that was left clinging to him, hair still a mess from his pillow and clothes much closer to what he'd slept in compared to his well dressed other half. It was oddly vulnerable to be messy around Hannibal, who had seen his highs and lows over the past few years. Even then he had never seen Will in this state, well-rested and moony-eyed for the man who took care of him. </p><p>"Looks amazing." He smiled as the platter was set down, returning his mug to the spot on the table. He reached out to gently lay a hand over the other's for a moment, thank you written in the pads of his fingers and the way they brushed the other's skin. He reached out to the platter and selected a piece of strawberry, slowly popping the sweet fruit into his mouth, tonguing darting out to momentarily meet his index finger, taking with it any remnants of the fruit.</p><p>“I think you would likely be pleased if I placed an old bagel in front of you if there were some flowers around it,” Hannibal replied dryly, though the small smile never left his lips. Of course he enjoyed the praise, as simple as it was, just as he enjoyed watching Will eat with his fingers. It was amusing, to see the other so readily ignore his utensils to have a quicker reach on the strawberry. </p><p>The coffee was working its wonders, the doctor noticing how Will’s eyes seemed to lose their sleepy haze as caffeine coursed through his bloodstream. A pity. When the other was tired, he was practically docile. Hannibal could easily remember the night before, where their dances had ended with Will curled up against his chest, hands intertwined. Neither asleep, but neither speaking. Just being. </p><p>That’s what Hannibal wanted. To be. No facade. No games, no dancing. Just a moment to breathe, with someone by his side. His hand flipped, easily catching Will’s wrist in his grasp. While there was no denying the strength in the grip, there was nothing but tenderness as Hannibal raised it, bringing the other’s fingers to his lips. Tender kisses were pressed against the still-strawberry scented fingers before he stood.</p><p>The food behind him momentarily forgotten, Hannibal’s fingers interlocked with Will’s own as he closed the distance between them. A grape was plucked from the tray before the doctor easily straddled Will, squeezing his hand. “Open up,” he all but purred, pressing the grape past the other’s lips and letting the tips of his fingers slide in. </p><p>Now, there were no romantic or sexual intentions as Hannibal straddled Will in his chair, no undertones as fingers slipped past unwilling lips. There was no love in his eyes as he looked at the man beneath him; no, there was nothing but cold, hard determination, the embers of anger beginning to warm in his chest. </p><p>The moment Hannibal had truly understood what was happening, the moment that the unholy mixture of blood, saliva, and glass hit his hand, he sprang into action. He had heard the sickening crunch before, but a part of him hadn’t been able to accept it. Now, however, was no time to think about the hows or the whys. </p><p>The grip on Will’s jaw had become painfully tight, restricting any further movement as Hannibal got on top of the other. Immediately, he was forcing his fingers inside, removing as much of the glass as he could and letting it drop to the floor. The skin on his fingertips was absolutely shredded, but Hannibal couldn’t tell how much of the blood staining his fingers was his and how much was Will’s. “You know I can’t take you to a hospital, Will. Stop, or you’re going to damage your throat and stomach.”</p><p>Will hadn't expected this reaction; he had hoped for the clear sparks of anger or for the doctor to turn a blind eye, to allow Will to lash out in his own way. Like a parent watching a tantrum-driven child, allowing them to scream until their throat was raw and they could scream no longer. But instead, his eyes widened as the hand on his jaw tightened and unwanted fingers breeched his lips, digging for the glass and all but choking him. He could taste the other's blood as it mixed with the overflow of saliva and his own. </p><p>This wasn't the fight he had hoped for, no, this was a punishment. Being scolded for their inability to seek medical attention only acted as an accelerant to the flames, it only further encouraged his deviance from sense of normalcy, sanity. There were no sweet love ballads to be heard that night, only the sound of a struggle, love degraded and the sickening crack of glass that still seemed to echo through the apartment. </p><p>His throat felt like it was closing, his mouth overrun with blood and debris as he grabbed the wrist of the hand on his jaw, his blunt nails digging into the skin as he tried to free himself. He turned his head, struggling against the hold. He wouldn't allow himself to be held, to have his autonomy removed again. He would listen to no one but himself. He was already in far too deep to back down now. Finally managing to pull his head from him grasp, he grabbed the shattered wine glass and brought it to his lips, using the contaminated remnants of the expensive wine to chase down the shards of crystal.</p><p>The pieces had been ground small by his teeth would be harmless, near painless, but it would be enough to make him sick. He would bleed and his body would ache, tired from the blood loss and pain. If fingers had not plundered his mouth, the outcome would've been much worse, but he would sleep soundly with this. Each shard of glass, broken and bloody, was a knife all its own, and even if Will was the one being cut, he knew Hannibal really felt the pain. </p><p>Smiling now, his teeth tinted pink with blood, he dropped the glass on the floor, allowing it to shatter fully. Sick and satisfied. Perhaps it was the hellfire of the Parisian night that had driven him to the edge. The way the lights looked deceptively beautiful from the balcony, but from the view above it was a sea of flames that rivaled Hell itself, and the two of them were embroiled in it. The orange-tinted light casting dark shadows on their faces as they danced in circles around one another, never meeting, never touching.</p><p>The light from the windows adjacent to the dining room, cast a sliver of sunshine across the table where their breakfast sat. Will found himself basking in the momentary warmth of the light, suddenly pulled from his thoughts (or sleepy lack thereof) by the hand on his wrist. He couldn't help the light blush that dusted his cheeks as his fingers were kissed, nor the surprise on his face as he was straddled.</p><p>It wasn't that he didn't enjoy affection, it was quite the opposite really, but his affection came with a certain shyness when Hannibal was involved. It could've been the long-standing relationship they had had prior, or the way their relationship had only just begun, but even still, he welcomed the forward advance, his hands tentatively found purchase on the other's hips as he complied. Lips parted to allow passage to fingers that only seemed to deepen his blush. He accepted the grape and as he had done with his own fingers, he gently swept his tongue along the other's fingertips. </p><p>"Your turn." It had almost sounded more like a question, unsure but excited none the less. He could practically hear his heart pounding in his ears, arousal and interest leaving him feeling far more flushed and warm than the light of the sun. He reached past Hannibal with one hand to retrieve a piece of fruit, the other still anchored on the man's hip. With much less skill, he held the piece of kiwi to the Hannibal's lips, an offering.</p><p>There was a mixture of amusement and surprise as the kiwi pressed against his lips. His life seemed to be more dedicated than not to the service of others. He was a doctor, a psychiatrist, an award-worthy host. Taking care of people meant that he was in control. It meant that he could keep a hand on exactly how much people had, while forcing them to be grateful to him. He didn’t get offered things, he didn’t get taken care of. </p><p>And yet, Hannibal still opened his mouth, letting the kiwi slide past, teeth nimbly pulling it from Will’s fingers. “You look flushed. The sun doing you in?” He smirked before bending his head down, kissing the other slowly, languidly. Beyond enjoying teasing Will, testing the other’s patience, there was something incredibly soothing about there being no rush to the actions. </p><p>The doctor pulled away, a hand reaching up to cup the other’s face. The sunlight hitting WIll’s face caused his eyes to practically shine blue, a testimony to his innocence, perfectly accompanying the blush dusting his cheeks. Hannibal rested his forehead against Will’s, taking a deep inhale through his nose as he shut his eyes. There was the smell of Paris, the people, the food, the flowers, rolling in through the window. There was the smell of the bread and fruit on the table. More directly, there was the smell of coffee on Will’s lips, the smell of the riciulosuly cheap aftershave Hannibal couldn’t convince him to give up. It was an aroma that, all things considered, was familiar. Familiar meant safe. Safe meant home.</p><p>There was nothing safe about the rusty aroma of blood, oozing from his fingers and Will’s face. Nothing homely about the way blunt nails dug gouges from his wrist, yanking out of his grip to tip back the rest of the wine. Nothing familiar in Will’s eyes when Hannibal met them. </p><p>The orange light from the streets didn’t bring with it the same warmth that the sun did when it hit Will’s eyes. The sun accented the blue, making it shine even brighter. The orange consumed it, hiding all of the innocence in them until Hannibal was just looking at fiery orbs. </p><p>They were the representation of Hannibal’s failure to keep control. Proof that the demon, who had once walked these streets and let the fires of hell burn in his eyes with pride, had lost his touch. He had danced alone for too long; the steps were too ingrained for him to learn another pattern, and Will was refusing to turn his head to the music. The hand that had only moments before been gripping Will’s jaw painfully tight returned to his face, this time cupping his cheek.</p><p>There it was again. The expression of exhaustion. He didn’t even want to look anymore; Hannibal closed his eyes, the tension slowly leaving his body, his forehead coming to rest against Will’s own. Now, the smell of blood was almost overpowering, but Hannibal didn’t pull away just yet. “The glass will most likely pass through your system without any issues. If you experience any sudden pain, let me know,” he murmured before straightening, easily sliding off of Will’s lap.</p><p>The doctor grabbed Will’s napkin, wiping away the blood and spit from the other’s face before bending down, wiping up the wine on the floor. It was a miracle that it had hit the hardwood floor instead of the carpet; there was still some hope yet. </p><p>The actions of picking up the shattered glass and walking to the kitchen, of getting a soap mixture from underneath the sink and scrubbing the red stain from the wood, were all done on automatic. It was obvious that Hannibal was lost in thought, the music in his head drowning out any other stimuli. Eventually, however, the doctor had finished. He straightened, looking down at his work, nodding once in satisfaction. </p><p>“Get some rest. I will see you in the morning.” Hannibal inclined his head politely to Will before returning to his bedroom. The door, which had hung ajar since the pair had moved into the apartment, was closed with a resounding click.</p>
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